Classic Poem

Hail! once again, dear natal Seats
Ye plodding Cits, & slipp'ry Streets,
Better, a gentle fall, from you,
Than live excluded of the View,
Retir'd amidst the dismal Shades,
And Cows—& Chicks, & chattering Maids,
Who criticise with publick wonder,
Their undesigning Neighbour's blunder,
Blunders, in Cities, pass along,
Unnotic'd, with the blundering Throng,
But here, each little Slip is thrown
In public View—except their own.
Ye criticising Dames adieu,
And fellow Cits—all hail to you!
The very Dust—on which you tread
I value—nearly with your Head,
Pardon the odd Compare, nor grumble
For should my hurrying gain a tumble,
I need not long deploring stand,
While Men are plenty, helps at hand.
But let us guard, midst all our blunder
To keep our brittle Heads asunder,
For should they strike, this frosty Weather,
'Twill silence all their Wit forever,
The very Smoak, your Chimnies lend
Are pleasing Prospects to your Friend,
But oh! the hurrying Crowds that beat
The broken Pavement of each Street,
Are Sights more fair than all the Plains
That dress the Songsters rural Strains,
Let them, to mount Parnassus climb,
And with their Fiction swell their Rhyme,
Ye dear Realities of Life,
The happy Husband & his Wife,
The weeping Widower in his Sable
(Who eyes his second at the Table)
E'er for the first—his Tears are spent
If those kind drops were ever lent,—
And all the rest—who humbly wait
Their entrance to this blessed State,
I truly Joy, with you to meet
Tho' at the Risk of Head & Feet.